


spell "i love you" in blood

by ernjager



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Hisoka is Hisoka, Intimate touching, M/M, a smidgeon of domesticity but generally just homicidal homos, brief flashbacks to illumi (12) and hisoka (16), does this even need warning ur reading HISOILLU u know what's up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ernjager/pseuds/ernjager
Summary: "Have you ever been in love with the way someone commits murder?""My preferences neither lie with forty-five-year-old circus masters nor," Illumi paused, "sixteen-year-old clowns.""Ah, but they do lie with siblings.""Hisoka.""Andtwenty-eight-year-oldclowns."Hisoka offers Illumi a place in his abode while they carry out jobs during the few nights of the Yorkshin auction. Hisoka leads him into much too close quarters at times, but it's not as if Illumi minds Hisoka nor the discomfort; he's a first-rate assassin, a trained killer.
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 6
Kudos: 200





	spell "i love you" in blood

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this when i was living in japan and once over there i got drunk at nakano and bought an illumi figurine and well that's all i remember about that

Illumi wasn’t even aware that Hisoka owned a place of his own. For some reason, he imagined the man to not be homeless, per say, but… living off his bloodlust? He was always fighting someone or scouting to kill, and he was obviously fine defending himself in the city and in the wild, proven plenty with the Hunter exam. It wasn’t as if he required an abode to relax in.

He then realized that assuming someone doesn’t have a home just because they’re a murderer may be unusual, but for someone as bizarre as Hisoka Morow, his presumptions regarding his living situation could have been worse.

“This is a surprise.”

He was returning from a job in the city—a hit on a mafia head scheduled to be attending tomorrow’s annual auction—where he ran into Hisoka who was there for the bodyguard. The man was apparently a strong enhancer and hired for that exact reason; yet when Illumi slipped in through the window to end the boss’s life with a single needle, before the bodyguard and he could even meet eyes, Hisoka had casually stalked in through the door and sent a card directly through the man’s jugular. They’d essentially shown at the same time.

Then he had been invited into his acquaintance’s apartment at twelve in the morning, not even because Illumi needed help killing his marks but because Hisoka offered. And Hisoka was Illumi’s most preferred (and only) acquaintance. He also wouldn’t like to make the flight home just yet with his next job specified to be in two nights at the same event. A flight back and another flight to the city wasted time.

“Is it? I thought you’d enjoy my living space,” Hisoka said with his palms out, walking down the two steps to his den where his couch sat, immaculate, a flat screen hung, and the full-length windows out to the city gleamed.

“It’s quite normal,” Illumi said, scanning the space, “if not a bit eccentric. Not a trace of a child.”

“You’d kill me if I had my pictures of Killua up. Perhaps I hid them before you came; suppose I used Texture Surprise and they’re still up right now.”

“I will find them,” he said with no humor at all, eyes already flaring with _gyo_.

Hisoka turned around, fixing Illumi with an amused stare. “Joking, dear Illumi. I wouldn’t have known you were coming, and you wouldn't have been able to see through my Texture Surprise anyway.”

He smirked, all sin.

“I was joking as well,” Illumi said, unblinking, _gyo_ settling. Then, he turned to the short hallway. “I am going to take a shower.”

“Do as you please.” Hisoka dropped down onto the couch, flicking the television on. “Anything for my second favorite Zoldyck.”

Illumi’s head popped out from behind the wall leading into the hallway, eyes murderous and leaking bloodlust. “I will kill you. Right now.”

“Joking again, dearest Illumi.” Hisoka leaned back, unaffected and still grinning in the eyes. He threw his crop top off. “Though I believe I’ve forgotten to inform you that there’s only one bedroom.”

Illumi’s bloodlust disappeared and his hair fell onto his shoulders. “Why would you have bought a high rise this large without a guest space?”

“Do I look like the type to frequently entertain? My, and I thought we were friends.”

“You are right. I am at fault for assuming. I will take the couch tonight.”

Wiping his makeup off with a face wipe, Hisoka repeated, “Do as you please.”

Doing as he pleases must have a different meaning in Hisoka’s head, because as Illumi’s internal clock told him at three in the morning, his already-alert sleep senses registered arms underneath his back and knees, lifting him up along with his blanket. He didn’t react only because he was fully aware of it being Hisoka.

“Why haven’t you tried to stab me in the heart yet?” he heard as Hisoka stepped away from the living space. He also heard the sly, coy smirk it came from. “You should keep your needles on you, even in my abode.”

His eyes were still closed as if he had not awoken. “I have two reasons: you would not dare, for one, and you would not.”

“Mm, you’re right about that, dearest Illumi. I _am_ your only friend for a reason.”

“You are not my friend.”

“Yes, yes.”

He was dropped onto the bed without another word so he turned to his side, and with a miniscule peek he saw that he faced another wall of full-length glass, whatever lights left in the city shining up at him dimly. A thick comforter was pulled up to his chin. With it came the sensation of Hisoka Morow behind his back, arm curled around Illumi’s first blanket to pull him close.

“You are surprisingly gentle for a murderer.”

“Didn’t you know? I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he explained, breath ghosting where Illumi’s hair fell to the pillow and exposed the junction between his neck and shoulder.

“That is the most amusing thing you have ever said to me.”

“Are you laughing?”

“No.” Illumi shifted in his sheets, too warm, pulling the first one off by tugging at it with his feet. It pooled at his ankles, creating a lump in the comforter. “May I ask why?”

“We’re friends, are we not?”

“We are not.”

“I did say I’m a lover.” His hand came over and around to hold the inside of Illumi’s thigh, and the other reached through the pool of silky black hair, snaking around his neck from behind. He pulled Illumi a bit closer. “And if we weren’t friends, I’m sure you’d have put at least twenty needles through me by now.”

Hisoka was right. He could also tell this was no impersonator because he felt Hisoka’s unmistakable aura, certain of no significant danger.

“This is strange. I’m aware that we have only a fifty pound difference in weight and mere centimeters in height, yet for some reason you feel much larger than I had anticipated.”

“Oh?” Hisoka goaded. He slid the hand gently curled around Illumi’s inner thigh a little higher. “I do like hearing that.”

He didn’t make any further moves, so Illumi took the situation for face value and focused on rest. He must sleep in case a short-notice hit came in the morning, as the auction had always been so high-profile.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Illumi’s brows crinkled from where Hisoka couldn’t see them. “No. It is three in the morning and you’ve just woken me up.”

“To _move you_ to a more comfortable location. Let’s play a game.”

“Hisoka. No.”

“So mean,” he huffed, probably pouting.

The silence lasted for a good minute and Illumi was nearly asleep when Hisoka spoke again, softer than before.

"Do you recall the day we met?"

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, Illu," he whined low and smooth, "you're not getting old and senile on me yet, are you? Let's talk about the night we met."

He shifted so Hisoka's arm wriggled back around his neck. The large, clawed palm rested on Illumi's crown instead, gently carding through the hair on his scalp.

"I assassinated the ring leader you were about to engulf. You looked up and saw his heart torn out and you smiled. I thought you were strange because you wanted to know my name. That's all."

"Did me being on my knees do anything to you?" he asked, dragging the warm palm that still laid on Illumi's thigh just a bit higher until it nearly rested on the junction between leg and pelvis.

"No. I was twelve."

"And I was sixteen but we all have our preferences," he sang lowly, nearly a whisper by Illumi's too-sensitive ear.

"My preferences neither lie with forty-five-year-old circus masters nor," Illumi paused, "sixteen-year-old clowns."

"Ah, but they do lie with siblings."

"Hisoka."

"And _twenty-eight-year-old_ clowns."

"Has anyone ever told you you are an asshole?"

He paused as if giving the question some real thought, though Illumi was sure Hisoka didn’t have to think much about that one. "Well, yes. But for the record I haven't fucked any men since that man."

At this, Illumi was genuinely surprised. Hisoka was now waning twenty-eight, meaning he'd gone over a decade without touching a man—which was where Illumi was sure his interests laid if the past twelve years of their... camaraderie was anything to go by.

"Why?"

Hisoka rumbled behind him in a silent chuckle. When he calmed, he said, “You're too pretty, Illu. You ruined it for me."

Ah. He's heard that before, but, "Because of me? You tried... heterosexuality, because of my face." He can't just believe Hisoka completely stopped touching men because Illumi's round, inquisitive, prepubescent face prompted so.

Perhaps he was lying, little droplets of half-truths scattered throughout his speech the way he liked to incorporate them. Yet somehow Illumi doubted Hisoka brought up the topic of their first meeting just to lie to him.

Hisoka hummed, lips half-open. "You do ooze somewhat more femininity but, mm, no. Try again."

"Animals? You're having sex with animals instead?”

"Gosh, Illumi, no. I’m repulsive but not that repulsive."

Before Illumi could even open his mouth for a chance to retort, Hisoka spoke again.

"Have you ever been in love with the way someone commits murder?"

Illumi halted in his thoughts. Of course he hadn't been. He was an assassin, and it took a lifetime's worth of experience to impress him.

Or an amount of power one can only obtain in exchange for selling his soul to the devil.

So perhaps he actually has, but with his own family. Killua, whose killing he has definitely fallen for and whose abilities bring light to the Zoldyck name. Kalluto, whose grace and uncanniness to his mother and himself accentuated his amazing stealth and juvenile _nen_.

"Yes."

"Good. So have I."

Hisoka didn’t push further. In the dimness, embraced by the steady humdrum of slow breaths and the comforting repetition of an unfamiliar-yet-familiar chest rising and falling behind him, he fell into a deep sleep.

The next day brought Illumi no new mark, but it did bring a Belgian waffle to him on the bedside table. With the strong aroma of warm vanilla and sweet blueberry syrup dictating his first thought of the morning, he woke up still facing the windows, gleaming with gentle warmth that made him feel as though he were at home on the mountain. Perhaps a high-rise in the city wasn’t so bad compared to the Zoldyck manor.

He threw the comforter aside and meant to take the plate with him to the kitchen to ask Hisoka just why and how he made Illumi breakfast without knowing what he liked while somehow getting it right.

Hisoka, in his usual attire—this time grey with pastel blue trimmings and waist-wrap—pulled on his second boot at the doorway right as Illumi made it out of the bedroom. He glanced up, sensing a new presence, then stood upright, golden eyes gleaming.

“You are going out?”

“As much as I enjoy you playing worried housewife, don’t be too occupied. I’ll be back soon,” he sang.

“I was not.” Illumi pressed his lips into a flat line. “Thank you for the waffle, however.”

“There’s whipped cream in the refrigerator.”

Ilumi watched as Hisoka adjusted his pastel blue wrist-wrap then cracked open the front door, beguiled.

“Why do you know my exact breakfast order?”

He turned around mid-way out the door, fixing Illumi with raised brows and an expression that could only be read as _isn’t it obvious?_ “I assumed the sweet tooth. You love _me_ , after all.”

All he received was a frown in response. Hisoka broke into a depraved grin and made his way out, shutting the door.

One belgian waffle piled high with whipped cream, an hour-long session of core training and long-range precision exercises and one shower later, Illumi’s phone lit up with a call from Silva, indicating he had a short-notice hit to take on instantly.

He expected as much, so he threw on one of Hisoka’s darker tops (would Hisoka really deny him?), his own pants from yesterday because Hisoka’s bottom half was much too large compared to his own, pinned his hair up messily with a needle or two, and made his way out.

Yet, considering the way cruel fate works, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he scaled up to the eighty-second floor hotel room of one of the new Ten Dons and his hit was already long bled out, his own personal jacuzzi water turned cold and crimson. Nary a body was to be seen, the only visible part being the balding apex of his head sticking out of the water where he slumped.

From where he hung half-out of the window, Illumi swung himself in then crossed the room to nudge the already cracked-open door. Outside laid nearly an army of men who he could safely assume were bodyguards, some fallen with guns in their hands. Each of them was impaled with a single card to the forehead.

Illumi must commend Hisoka’s handiwork, if anything. But now he wasn’t sure if he’d be paid for this hit, and that complicated things for him. He had also been quite excited for this, but it’d been taken from him.

Illumi frowned to himself, whipping out his phone to send Hisoka a firm text.

_To Hisoka:  
Hello, excuse me. My hit has been murdered._

_From Hisoka:  
Which one?_

_To Hisoka:  
Jappon. Ten Don._

_From Hisoka:  
Ah~ I got him right after I left earlier. Was he today’s hit? Gome~n Illumi-chan._

_To Hisoka:  
I’m going to accept the payment anyway._

_From Hisoka:  
That’s fine by me! They were boring anyway. >.< _

Illumi’s eye twitched and something in his chest palpitated. For a second he was afraid that the irregular bodily functions were indicative of his health, but he was perfectly healthy aside from the occasional (read: daily) sweet treat he allowed himself as far as he could tell. It was likely the mountain of sugar he consumed two hours prior. He is a perfect assassin after all.

He pocketed his phone, admired Hisoka’s precise handiwork once more (it reminded him of his own precision), then made his way back into the room to jump out the window.

He attended that night’s auction without returning to Hisoka’s abode because another request came in just as he left the previous one.

Somehow, while the auctioneer accepted and named bids from numbered faces throughout the room, Hisoka interrupted his hit once again by breaking out into a fight in the middle of it all.

Illumi had been aiming a needle directly at the back of his hit’s head from the top of the auditorium when Hisoka—that _damn Hisoka_ —literally dropped from the ceiling of the stage, declared a magic show, and turned the auctioneer into butterflies.

Before the guests could react and pile onto him as it definitely seemed like they were trying to do, Hisoka had queens of hearts and aces and jokers flying in each direction, each card flitting through his fingertips not a single degree off and lodging seamlessly in each mafioso’s jugular or heart. He missed none, and they dropped like flies. From behind the front line of mobbing tuxedo-clad men, some engaged their weapons, yet Illumi could only watch as Hisoka’s body followed the swift momentum of his legs mid-air, dragging his body smoothly to avoid bullets to his left and right and above him and below him. He seemed as if he were gliding with the way his arms danced and threw _nen_ -enforced cards to even split some bullets mid-flight. Nothing could touch him. No one could.

By the time Illumi snapped out of his reverie, all those in the room were dead. All except him and Hisoka, of course. He suddenly realized his carelessness in forgetting his own mission even for just that minute. Despite his frustration, his target was dead anyway (he peered down to confirm; target was definitely dead with a card to the heart), so this time his carelessness didn’t render any consequences. He reminded himself that that would not always be the case.

“How was it?” he heard, voice sly and echo-y and obviously directed at him. No one else was alive in the room, after all.

So Hisoka knew he was here.

“Did you want me to say it was excellent?” he called from one of the very top seats.

He could admit it was impressive… Being in the presence of large massacres have always calmed Illumi, though those were usually when he committed them himself. They also usually weren’t so bloody, but the mess was somewhat rejuvenating to him this time.

His stomach and chest reacted to the day’s earlier waffle and blueberry syrup combo again.

Hisoka jumped from the stage to the audience. A few large hops and strides and he ended up by Illumi’s side, plopped into the seat beside him. He leaned over the armrest inquisitively, chin resting in his palm.

To avoid the proximity, Illumi leaned back even farther but Hisoka merely followed.

“So?” _How was it?_

“Impressive, but I could have sworn you preferred killing those who could put up a fight.”

Jutting his lip out in false contemplation, Hisoka hummed. “That is true. For mafia they were quite weak, so their deaths definitely weren’t a waste. In vain, maybe.”

Illumi could have agreed with that, though it didn’t matter much to him either way. His target was dead, and he was calm. Somewhat calm, except the quiver in various spots in his torso were trying to tell him otherwise, it seemed.

“Did you put something in the waffle this morning?”

Still smiling in all his depravity, Hisoka answered, “No, dear Illumi. Are you feeling something strange?”

The calculated way in which he said that made Illumi not want to answer yes, but he nodded anyway.

Hisoka smiled all the way to his eyes the same way he did when Illumi tore out his old circus master’s heart, leaned back, then offered to grab a vanilla shake with him before heading back home.

**Author's Note:**

> half the time i hear hisoka as oikawa so in this universe you bet hisoka calls him illumi-chan
> 
> also my first hxh fic omg! i relish in pairings where one of them wants to kill the other, therefore hisoillu calls me for more


End file.
